


Before I Die

by bloodontheground



Category: Sebastian Stan - Fandom
Genre: AU, Death, F/M, Gore, Smut, Vampirism, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 06:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6971161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodontheground/pseuds/bloodontheground
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He left the Congress just after the Inquisition, vowing never to be part of that life again. Actions have consequences however, and his have long gone unchecked. Forced to come back to the place he reviles, Sebastian is given an ultimatum: Do the unthinkable and live, or refuse and finally see his last sunset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before I Die

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter has a song that accompanies it. Check the end to find the link. I blame Sebastian and his charm entirely for this, so here we are. Also, chapter one is purposely short, as I haven’t posted fic in ages and am dipping my toe in again for the first time. Be gentle.

_“Alone. Yes, that’s the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn’t hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.”_

_― Stephen King_

Anatomy had always fascinated him. The architecture of the human body. What went where, what connected to what, what color and shape were things that were normally meant to be unseen? He’d long collected anatomical textbooks both new and old, each a paving stone in the history of medicine. The earliest attempts at drawing the inside of the human form were always his favorite. Before it became common practice to dissect, learned men imagined all sorts of things inside their forms that, for the most part, would turn out to be untrue. On the rare occasion, they got it right, but to him, the perceived interiors of the body were always better than what mankind came to find once blade slipped through flesh.

Presently, he found himself mesmerized by the carotid. Lush and powerful, it supplied oxygen to the head and if so much as nicked, would cause near-instantaneous death. The one he gazed upon was totally severed. His accursed temper had gotten the best of him yet again.

Sighing, Sebastian broke his gaze away from the object of his daydreams and looked around, realizing just how late it was from the position of the moon. Its blue light washed over the old stone walls, tingeing everything in a sight a pale cerulean. Everything except the phoenix-like locks of the young woman who floated in the old Roman bath. Her green eyes stared off into the high ceiling, the smooth plaster decorated with classical representations of Dante’s trek through the underworld. Demons and lost souls were the last images her eyes had taken in and for a moment, he wondered if a change of scenery wouldn’t have delivered better results. Her fear was plain as day when he tasted her, and Sebastian hated the tart tang of adrenaline as it coursed through the veins.

He’d waited too long again. Let the hunger get the better of him, and when she fought—as they always did—his patience grew thin and instead of a quiet meal, he was left with something closer to what his people fed on ages ago. Shaking his head, he slipped out of his suit and dove into the red swirls, retrieving her corpse from the bath. He had only a few hours of night left with which to bury her deep. Turning her was out of the question in her current state, and he wouldn’t make _that_ mistake twice.

One arm held her against his chest while the other lifted a hand to smooth his long hair back from his face, Sebastian letting the cool water extinguish the last of his ire. He took one final look at her, remembering her as she was in life—beautiful, full of radiating warmth and a quickfire wit. Once more, he’d destroyed a work of art with his recklessness. He’d have to feed before he felt true hunger next time; it was the only way.

It took an hour, but he managed on his own, digging the hole past the point of modern detection and wrapping her torn form in a shroud scented with the blood of a goat—an animal that roamed the mountains in droves—to throw any dogs off the trail. It wouldn’t be the first time the _poliţie_ came sniffing about, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He’d long ago learned to deal with their blundering questions, their roaming eyes, their morbid curiosity with the young man who lived all alone in the old house nestled on top of the fierce mountain. ‘House’ was an understatement, as his estate had several parapets, towers, and long, winding staircases that traversed many floors. Then there was the matter of the full Roman bath underground, which they never got to see. It was more akin to a castle than a house, but he called it such in order to relate to the uniformed men who they themselves had houses in town. It eased their distaste for the luxury they perceived; old and tarnished but nevertheless far more extravagant than anything they’d amass in their lifetime.

His return to the house coincided with the arrival of his caretaker, a mousy young lady named Flavia, who worked for a pittance, and only spoke to her master when it was absolutely necessary. Fervent in her studies, she spent three days a week working for him when she did not have classes. It was an old custom to keep a human for the daylight hours, but it was one that still gave him a measure of comfort despite his age. The bonus was that his home was always spotless, as the girl was equally maniacal about keeping the multi-roomed estate in tip-top shape. He’d read her mind once and only once, early on in their agreement, and had found, much to his amusement, that she had a crush on him. It was part of why their arrangement worked so well; she had a reason beyond funds to stay loyal to him. Her affections remaining unrequited was the key that he kept closely guarded and would for as long as she chose to maintain her employment.

“Good evening, Flavia,” he nodded, keeping his expression stolid as he climbed the last stair to reach one of the many back doors to the estate proper.

“Good evening, sir,” she replied, bowing her head as she had a tendency to do, Flavia never having lost the feeling of being intimidated by him. It was utterly charming, and despite the disaster that was his night, Sebastian couldn’t help but smile as she very nearly curtsied while he passed.

Retiring to his room, he debated taking the car out to see the sunrise and one of his dearest friends, but thought better of it when the sickly acidity of his dinner came back to his taste buds, Sebastian’s mind flashing to her last moments, her eyes filled with terror. No, he’d call on his old friend another night. He had no stomach for gossip tonight. 

Come morning, he’d wish he never stayed in.

**Author's Note:**

> [Akira Yamaoka - Room of Angel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1c6fiCcveA)


End file.
